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I don’t like that in a man. I prefer to be in control. My entire field is about control and precision in what I do. In bed, I like being pleasured in certain ways, and it’s easier to guide menwhen I’m the one in charge. I know what I like, and I know how to get it.

This guy is unpredictable. Although, I have seen him naked, and the sheer size of his…manhood…would make for an interesting—

An “eep” slips past my lips when Griffin’s hands tighten around my waist.

“What are you thinking about while cutting my hair?” His voice is a scratchy growl, and he lowers his head, sniffing.

What is he—

Suddenly, a memory pops up of Leanna complaining about Cedric’s sharp nose. Pair that with the thoughts floating in my head, and I’m flushing in embarrassment. I instantly try to move back, but he holds me in place.

When he looks up at me, those intense amber eyes have me stammering, “L–let go of me.”

He releases me, and I lean away from him, only to fall over backward.

His hand reaches out, wrapping around my wrist, and he yanks me back toward him before I crack my head open a second time. The force of his pull has me falling into his arms. In an attempt to protect me, he shields me as his own back hits the ground, his arms wrapped around me. Dazed, I don’t move as I lie on top of him, my head spinning.

“Are you hurt?”

His question makes me shake my head in humiliation. “I’m so sorry!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?” Water has spilled everywhere, the bowl having been kicked over as all of this was happening. “You didn’t have to—I was just thinking something. Why’d you have to make it weird?!”

I can’t bear to face him. My face feels hot as I pick up the bowl and try to mop up the water with the towel, my back to Griffin. Once I’m done, I turn and see him feeling his hair.

“It’s still long.” He sounds rueful.

“I–I’m not done with it yet,” I say reluctantly. I pick up the scissors. “Don’t move.”

Forcing myself to think about nothing but the acid rain outside, I finish the job. When I move back, I feel myself gaping at him. If I thought he looked ethereal with his long, flowing locks, with this short hair, he looks wickedly handsome. His cheeks are too sunken, but once they fill out with some proper nutrition, he’s going to be a heartthrob.

I’ve met a few good-looking shifters, but no one like Griffin.

He’s checking his shirt to see if it’s dry, and I wonder if he’s aware of how hot he is. He doesn’t seem to be. Or maybe it’s not important in the grand scheme of things, and I’m just shallow.

“The rain has stopped.” He looks up, his eyes sharp.

I look out the window, and indeed, while the skies are still gray, the sound of the constant raindrops hitting the cabin is gone.

“What does that mean?” I ask cautiously. “Can we leave?”

The steady rain has ceased, and not with some dramatic crack of thunder. It seems to have simply faded, as if it lost interest. The hiss of acid eating through leaves and bark tapers into silence. The forest outside looks wounded, steam rising from blackened earth and skeletal trees. It smells like burnt copper and rot.

Griffin moves before I do. He strides over to the door and stands there, quiet and deliberate, pressing his palm against the door like he’s listening through it. He’s watchful and calm. Like waiting is a skill he has mastered. Like he has waited a long, long time.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Stay close.”

I nod, ready to trust him with my life right now. I just want to be away from this madness. Griffin steps outside and scans the clearing. I follow him.

The forest looks wrong. Burned. Wilted. The trees seem smaller, bowed under the weight of something invisible. The air buzzes, too thick, as if the world is holding its breath. After a few paces, Griffin stops. His body goes still in that way only shifters can manage—silent, coiled.

Then, she steps out of the trees.

The witch.

A woman in her forties, her black hair in soft, gentle curls, her gray eyes cold, holding an animosity aimed toward the two of us. Her feet are bare and leave a burst of greenery in their wake, as if she’s breathing life back into the damaged land. Flowers and grass grow right before my eyes, blooming and turning green.

“Griffin,” she says, her voice smooth and cold. “I should’ve known it was you.”

I glance at him. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.